


Little inconveniences

by TheBananaDoctor



Series: Little inconveniences, the Assassin's creed AU [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Human, Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Crying, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel is an asshole, Kinda, M/M, POV Multiple, Secret Identity, Secret Identity Fail, Slow Burn, angels are templars, demons are assassins, every other chapter is in crowley's and the other in aziraphale's pov, soft!Crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-09-23 13:07:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20340601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBananaDoctor/pseuds/TheBananaDoctor
Summary: It's the year 1794. The French revolution is raging on and the secret war between the Assassin Brotherhood and the Templar Order is at its worst. Crowley, an assassin who gets a contract to find out who the mysterious man in the mask, a new templar associate, is and Aziraphale, a templar assigned to find the glorious weapon called the Sword of Eden, are tested on every step of the way as they try to solve their own mysteries, meeting along the way in the most inconvenient of circumstances.





	1. Little inconveniences, good news

Aziraphale was more excited than he ever remembered of being. The assignment he'd gotten from Gabriel was somewhat of a passion project of his. As things stood, he was a rather standard member of the Templar order, however, his unrivaled interest in the pieces of Eden and the vast shells of books on the myths they had created held him higher than any common brute. In fact, he wasn't a brute at all. He'd never been in a fist fight to his memory, of course, some very specific people in Paris would have to disagree. Like the person he was hurrying to meet, a certain flower shopkeeper with bright red flowing curls and an attitude that could cut through the hardest of materials.

The Reign of Terror had broken loose and the Parisian aristocracy were threading on thin ice, so Aziraphale had to be careful with his dressing choices. He wasn't really part of the lot, but he most certainly liked to dress higher. It made him feel more sophisticated. Now, however, he wasn't taking any risks and he had gone with a simple overcoat and a hat that would identify him as a Jacobin supporter. With France being in war with England, he was also very careful to keep his true nationality a secret. Luckily for him, he was a near natural with most languages he’d come to learn so far, French being no different.

Aziraphale approached the shop that appeared to be closed. He had his own ways in, so the templar simply made his way to the alleyway leading to the inner ward and knocked on one door with care. For a moment, he stood out there, the noises of the streets dampened by the high buildings, waiting. He waited for a little too long and that made him worry. He knocked again, slightly louder. Nothing again.

"It's me! Are you in there?" Aziraphale didn't want to raise his voice too much but he had to get Crowley's attention somehow.

A moment passed and there was a light clack coming through the door just before it opened, revealing a very messy looking golden-eyed man. Aziraphale hadn’t noticed that he’d frozen to stare at the other.

“I wasn’t exactly expecting visitors today,” he explained his state of dress. The templar still didn’t move a muscle and it made the other narrow his eyes. “Come on in?” he tried and just like a miracle, the intruder woke up to reality.

“Ah, yes, of course. Silly me.”

Aziraphale stepped into the dimly lit cave of a flower shop.

“So, what brings you to my humble quarters this fine day?” Crowley asked with a mock politeness in his voice. Perhaps he had interrupted the shopkeeper doing something personal, or by the looks of him, just sleeping.

“Oh, I’m rather excited about this new assignment I got just this morning. Just wanted to tell you in person.”

“Uh-huh..”

There was a longer pause that made Aziraphale turn around to see whether the other was still there.

“Oh, yeah. Do you want to elaborate on the assignment?” Crowley asked as if he’s just forgotten his lines in a play.

“Gladly.”

Crowley glanced back and forth between him and the shop behind him a couple of times before deciding.

“Come on upstairs. It’s more comfy there.”

Aziraphale smiled and followed the mess of flaming hair to the second floor, where he sat on the couch while the other took his place at his makeup table. The templar’s gaze fell upon his friend as he began putting himself together. Crowley was the most beautiful man he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing even when he was a complete mess, but especially when he was fully dressed in the finest black clothing he owned. The other seemed to take notice of the silence once again and with a wave of a hand, not turning his head off the mirror, he repeated: “Elaborate.”

“Yes, indeed. This assignment is the main reason why I came to France in the first place all the way back three years ago. Oh, how time flies. Still, the object I am to find is a very intricate golden sword that is rumored to be located somewhere in Paris.”

“So, what’s that sword for? Someone really likes old swords that don’t have a practical use?”

“Oh, no, no, it does have its uses. But for now it is nothing but a mere relic of a more glorious age.”

“Valuable in coin?”

“Well it is made of gold, or so the legends describe it. Though I would say that its value is purely sentimental and historical.”

"Sounds flashy."

"I hope it will be."

Crowley was done with his hair and stood as if to get dressed properly but he stopped to look at Aziraphale.

"Are you here to take me out or just to break the news?"

The question caught Aziraphale off guard. He wasn't quite sure about it himself.

"If you don't have anything planned for today.."

"I don't."

Crowley's answer was perhaps slightly faster than he'd expected.

"I'm sure we can find some quiet roads to take a walk?"

"Oh, leave that to me," Crowley insisted.

The shopkeeper finished getting dressed by adding the round sunglasses and they left outside. He had told Aziraphale that his eyes were very sensitive to light, so he made his life easier by just covering them whenever he left the shop. The templar quite liked his eyes for their peculiar colouring but he wholeheartedly supported his reasons.

Crowley led them through the city without hesitation and somehow they'd avoided all the crowds and saw very little people despite Paris bursting with life. He truly had a skill in avoiding people outside of keeping the shop open rather randomly. They were walking around the far edge of Paris, a shoreline of the Seine's with smaller houses dropped here or there. It was very peaceful out there.

Aziraphale had kept quiet the whole time though and aside from an occasional comment from Crowley, they were walking in a comfortable silence, or at least almost comfortable. He had other not so good news in store as well. After what felt like forever of sideways glances and fidgeting hands the shopkeeper finally broke the tension.

"So what's the real reason we're out here?"

"Real.. Reason?"

"You got something else to say?"

"Uh.."

The other stopped walking, Aziraphale did as well.

"Come on. We've been friends for what.. Two, three years now? You can tell me," Crowley said more gently.

"Oh, well.. You see.. Um.. As this assignment is the reason I've been here, there's.. Well there's really no other reason for me to stay in France after it is done, except you, of course. But as this is my way of making a living, I suppose I'll have to return to London when I'm finished. And of course there’s the war and I honestly can’t risk even technically being on enemy soil for more than I have to," Aziraphale rambled. He was really anxious when it came to thinking that his life in Paris might end sooner rather than later, even though that would relieve him of some great pressures. He tried to fish for any reaction on the other's face but the sunglasses blocked any possible expression with his eyes.

"Right."

Was that all he could muster? Not at all sad to see him go soon?

“Is-” Aziraphale began.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long are you still staying? A month? A week? Any direction?”

“No, I don’t know yet.. It could be months, but my er.. Client, wants it as soon as possible.”

“I see.”

A hint of sadness flashed Crowley’s visible features. He’d judged the other too quickly, it seemed.

“Listen,” Aziraphale started, placing a reassuring hand on Crowley’s shoulder, “Believe me when I say, I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t have a choice, I get it.”

Crowley took a deep breath and looked back at Aziraphale, smiling.

“But at least I’ll have my friend for a little longer, eh.”

“Oh, my dear. Thank you for understanding.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.”

They went back to their more regular chatting about all the mundane yet somehow exciting things happening in their lives, like the most delicious crepes and persistent customers trying to break in for whatever reasons. At the end of the day, Aziraphale walked home with uncertainty in his steps, yet somehow he was even more confident in his thoughts. He had a certain determination to get this job over with. Maybe he could stay in Paris for a while longer if he just was quick with the assignment, as a reward. He truly prayed for his superiors to show such mercy. Though there never was telling when Gabriel was feeling merciful. Nevertheless he was happy to see that Crowley took the news with at least a hint of positivity.


	2. Little inconveniences, a masked mystery

A week after Aziraphale’s unfortunate reveal, Crowley was heading for the assassin headquarters. His flower shop was a mere hobby, hence the odd hours, as he was bound to the Assassin Brotherhood for life. He was one of the best of the current brotherhood. Arno Dorian had gotten himself expelled for working with the infamous daughter of de la Serre, the former templar Grandmaster and many others were killed in efforts to bring down the extremist templars under Germain’s rule.

Crowley wasn’t a born Parisian, or a Frenchmen either for that matter. He was born and raised in London, however as the French brotherhood had asked for reinforcements, he had been one of the unfortunates to leave Great Britain’s brotherhood behind to go live in Paris instead. He had spent ten years of his life living in there. Ten years he slightly regretted he’d never get back since he’d hardly made any acquaintances in France. The last three years had been more or less a blessing, since he’d finally met Aziraphale, the only friendly face in the whole country, or so he felt, and he wasn’t even French.

The historian’s words were still echoing in his thoughts. If the council would be generous, he could probably return to England with his friend. If only the Germain issue wasn’t standing in front of him, blocking any hopes of such a future.

He sighed as he entered the secret hideout. He was truly not in the mood for a meeting right now.

“Oi oi, Crowley, how are ya?” a voice rang loud and clear behind him, a voice whose bearer’s face he was really not in the mood for seeing. He didn’t turn to look at the menace.

“Hastur. Just leave me be, okay?”

“Why the foul mood? There’s some exciting news for ya,” Hastur was uncharacteristically cheerful as he stepped just a little too close for Crowley’s comfort.

“For me? Isn’t this a regular council meeting?” his interest grew with Hastur’s grin.

“Nah, this is a special mission just for you, one of the best field operatives Paris’ got,” the last sentence came out with clear spite.

“Oh.”

“But I won’t spoil it. Step right in.”

Crowley eyed Hastur with suspicion, but eventually did as he was told. The Council was awaiting him at their respective spots around the table situated in the middle of the room. All eyes were on him when he entered, Hastur right behind him.

“Mr. Crowley, welcome. This is truly a troubling day for the Brotherhood,” stated their substitute mentor, Lord Beelzebub, who had taken the title after Count Mirabeau had been assassinated years ago.

“What’s new?” Crowley wasn’t trying to sound rude but he certainly couldn’t shake his mindset of the day just for some council meeting.

“A new templar has risen among the shattered remains of the Order.”

“Prominent?”

“Very.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“It’d better, since it is your mission to find out who is under the mask.”

“A mask?”

“Sightings say very angelic themed, multiple eyes and a halo, all in a golden ball mask. No one’s seen his real face. I doubt neither have the templars.”

“Their guardian angel, perhaps?” Crowley laughed. Templars and their need to play God was simply hilarious.

“Whatever he is, he’s looking into one of the most dangerous Pieces of Eden. You need to be quick or else this might mean the end of France as a whole and perhaps even the end of the world.”

“Oh, I see, that kind of prominent. I accept. Better leave this to someone who can spare some serious time.”

“Good. Hastur will brief you on all the sightings we’ve got so far and you must get to it immediately.”

“Understood.” Crowley nodded.

“You’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Mentor,” he agreed and bowed his head slightly before retreating from the room full of the highest ranking assassins in the whole country.

“Didn’t I say it would be exciting?” Hastur boasted, even though he was nothing more than a carrier pigeon to Crowley at this point.

“Yeah, yeah, just give me the instructions already,” Crowley didn’t want to sound too enthusiastic but he couldn’t deny his interest in the mission. He also wanted to get out of this lair of killers as fast as possible.

Hastur briefed him with the smallest amount information, but there really wasn't anything more to go with just yet anyway. This angel themed templar wore white and shades of light blue, so he might have been a rather rich person in his private life. He'd been seen especially entering catacombs, so Crowley had a lead. A lead that separated into tens of possibilities. He had to go hang around in graveyards. Great. He couldn't just go around asking for a man in white wearing a mask in a graveyard or he himself might end up wearing white for the rest of his life.

He left the assassin hideout at dusk. Perfect timing for some templar hunting with the dead! Wahoo! He’d set up a plan of sorts to go through each graveyard in Paris in the time period of one week. Two target areas for each night. He’d bound to find the graverobber somewhere since there weren’t a whole lot entrances to the underground burial sites.

The first night was a bust, but he hadn’t expected to find his target this easily anyway. He kept a steady watch, not even returning home to sleep most nights. He wanted to be absolutely sure he hadn’t missed anything. Keeping watch gave him time to think. Exactly the thing he didn’t want to be stuck doing for more than maybe five minutes a day. Especially since his thoughts were surrounded by Aziraphale and the fear of letting him go too soon in case the brotherhood really wanted to keep him in Paris for good.

Second night ended in a disaster followed by Crowley running and hiding from some theatre group with a very bad choice of outfit for a nightly graveyard rehearsal. Why would they choose such a location anyway?? Amateurs, he’d thought after successfully vanishing from their sights.

On the third night he followed the man in the mask inside the catacombs.


	3. Little inconveniences, a looming danger

The past week and a half had been extremely stressful for Aziraphale. He’d realized just how well the Pieces of Eden were hidden, for reasons he could, of course, understand. They were extremely powerful artefacts after all, empowered with ancient technology to mostly control other people, to make them yield. He hadn’t been able to get out much and the one evening he had taken off to see Crowley, the shopkeeper hadn’t even been there, or perhaps he was mad after all and didn’t want to let him in. Whatever the case might have been, after an hour of standing in the rain behind the backdoor at Crowley’s, he’d left for home, not knowing what to think or who to blame.

Tonight, however, he was on the move once again. A clue had led him to a church that might have had some symbolic meaning to the assassin who last bore the sword. It was all really a shot in the dark but Gabriel was getting more and more pressing with his deadline.

Aziraphale had a pair of brutes, a master marksman and someone who could apparently handle a sword rather well with him. He didn’t really care about their skills in anything else but keeping him safe, as he was sure they had no eye for legendary artefacts such as the sword, judging by the questions they couldn’t stop asking. The swordsman opened the tomb door for him and brute number one entered first with a lantern, Aziraphale close behind. Brute number two stayed topside to guard the entrance. The marksman had their flank covered as the group descended down to the catacombs. The air down there was stale but still somehow cleaner than in the city. It was also rather cold and Aziraphale had hoped to have brought some gloves with him but what ifs were of no use anymore.

The mask he wore for protection of his identity gave room for little visibility but all he could see were skulls embedded into the walls on both sides. It was terrifying yet somehow fascinating at the same time. As if dead people were judging their advances into their halls. Perhaps they were. He could only guess at how many spirits could have been trapped in this crypt alone. The tunnels were a maze but finally they managed to find the place the manuscript described as a ‘spot where the sword bearer rests’. That couldn’t possibly mean anyone else than this assassin, he hoped.

At least there was a clear monument to reflect on the words but the stone sarcophagus didn’t have any markings on it. Not even a name. Aziraphale studied it from top to bottom, left and right and he couldn’t find any traces on it being even remotely possible to open. No secret mechanism or any traces of anyone ever laying their hands on it. The stone was in good condition. Too good if you asked him. Obviously the containment of the catacombs slowed down all kinds of ageing processes, but there wasn’t even a crack on the stone from being cut to shape. It was peculiar yet the most promising lead they’d got so far. As he took down some notes, his guards were starting to sound way too quiet. He looked back to still see the the swordsman, but brute number one was gone.

“Where’s your friend gone to?” he asked, trying to change his voice slightly more than the mask already did for him. The swordsman raised his head and looked back at Aziraphale. Had he fallen asleep just now? Gabriel truly had a terrific taste in bodyguards, he thought as he sighed

“Oh, um. Sorry, Sir, but I have no idea. I ‘spose he went out patrollin’,” the remaining guard managed. “D’ya want me to go lookin’ for ‘im?”

At least with these idiots he wouldn’t have to try and keep his calm in French. Gabriel had taken a small army with him from England.

“No, that wouldn’t be very wise,” he finished sinking back to his thoughts. Not too long after he swore he heard something. The templar turned to look at the guard’s direction and saw something even darker flash in the already dark corridor.

“Oi, Tom, ‘zat you?”

There was no way that brute could move so smoothly in the dark. They had been followed.

“He’s gone. We’ve been discovered!” Aziraphale warned, too late. The assassin in the darkest robes he’d ever seen pushed his hidden blade through the swordsman’s throat like it was nothing.

Run! 

All his instincts were telling him to run, but he was just standing there. Having a staring competition with the assassin. The assassin made the first move, breaking Aziraphale out of his trance and he finally followed his instincts. He hugged his notebook tightly and made an effort for reaching the exit route but the assassin blocked it quickly. The templar turned on his heels. Luckily he knew somewhat where he was going at all times and he had studied the map vigorously beforehand. He could almost say that he’d been there a thousand times before despite never setting foot on the burial ground before this night. He hoped he was the only one at that.

Aziraphale wasn’t a fast runner by all the means, not a runner at all, in fact, but he still somehow managed to lose the assassin in the maze. So he hoped, at least. He had read of the sixth sense the assassins shared and it would make the life of the black robed pursuer of his a lot easier than it was for him. However, he had already reached the last corner before the staircase leading out and he was doing his best to calm his breathing. He couldn’t hear anything, which was even worse than hearing something. There were so many little tunnels that the other could’ve crawled through to get here first. He was truly scared of turning the last corner. Anything, anyone could wait for him out there. He weighed his options and neither looked too promising. He decided to trust his luck and dashed for the stairs. He’d been right though.

Seemingly out of nowhere, the assassin jumped on him. Aziraphale was on his knees on the ground and he could hear the footsteps slowly closing in on him from behind, until they stopped very close. His heart was now beating out of sheer terror.

“What were you looking for here, templar?”

The voice sounded oddly familiar but he couldn’t get his head around it. The assassin spoke in French, as expected. In that moment he remembered that he had a sword of his own and he knew very well how to use it, he just didn’t want to. In a moment of life and death he had no choice, was his reasoning for drawing the sword.

Aziraphale stood there for a moment in the most elegant sword fighting stance, trying to see his opponent better but his hood blocked all the dim light coming from behind, where the last torches were slowly dying out.

“Help!” the templar yelled.

“No one’s left out there to save you,” the assassin taunted.

“HELP!!” Aziraphale tried again and he could practically see the smirk turn upside down on the assassins shadowy face when footsteps echoed through the staircase. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” the templar proclaimed smugly.

Before the reinforcements arrived, the assassin had ran back into the maze.

“He went that way!” Aziraphale pointed at the right direction. There was no running away for that assassin anymore.

Despite some of the guards staying at both ends of the staircase, the assassin managed to slip between their watch and was never seen again that night. Aziraphale got home as soon as possible, not caring about any secret routes as he was just in a hurry to put away his angelic persona.

When he finally reached his apartment, he carefully put away the notebook and mask in their respective hiding places and went straight to bed.


	4. Little inconveniences, dire consequences

"This can't be.." Crowley eyed the contract before him in shock, which he tried to hide regardless.

"What?" Hastur asked.

The redhead only took his eyes off the paper when he finally spoke.

"I won't take it."

“The identity of your target has been revealed and your window of opportunity has increased to a near hundred percent and ‘you won’t take it’? Have you gone mad? This just became easier than anything you’ve done before! Outside of his templar activities this one always sits in his study and doesn't have any guards around.”

“How did they find out?”

“Oh, remember that one night you ran into him? Another operative followed him home and we’ve kept an eye on him ever since.”

“That was almost a week ago..”

“Yeah, yeah, but Mentor wanted to see where it went before giving you more information. It’s right here, so go on and take it,” Hastur suggested and pushed the contract closer to him on the table.

"No, no. I won't do it. Not a chance!" Crowley raised his voice gesturing his hands in defense. He turned around to leave, but Hastur grabbed his wrist firmly.

"What is it? You know him or something?"

"Let. Go." Crowley tugged himself off with quite the force. "Just, give me another one and I'll leave."

“This target it yours by choice. You can’t just back away like that. You started it and you’d better finish it too.”

"Finish, my ass.. My word stands. I refuse."

"You would abandon the creed to save one templar? What is he to you? A friend? A lover, perhaps?"

Crowley didn't say anything. He stood there, with a blank expression and turned away once again. He made a more hasty exit, so Hastur couldn't stop him anymore.

"Lord Beelzebub will hear of this!" He heard Hastur's voice echo in the library halls.

Crowley walked the shore of the Seine. The sun was setting and it made the tall buildings cast sharp shadows over the water. He felt like walking on the darker side to concentrate more on his thoughts, even though he didn't want to, but he knew he couldn't not to. Aziraphale was a templar. Or maybe not, since the contract indicated that he didn't have a lot of protection, which he himself could very much vouch for. He could just be an informant. A civilian, exploited for his knowledge, for sure. That was why he wore the mask. To stay anonymous. Not a full on vow struck, committed oppressor, right?

Surely he could just go and ask him, right? Wouldn’t be weird at all.

‘Excuse me, but are you a templar by any means?’ he would ask and Aziraphale would answer:

‘Well of course, my dear, why how do you know?’ or alternatively, more favourably, though still the real answer could be the same as the previous:

‘No, what makes you think so, my dear?’

Crowley growled at the makebelief dialogue in his head. Everything could go wrong if he asked _ that _ question. He should still go warn him as one never really knew if one assassin were to be released from their previous duty to take on this assignment. The tricky part was to come up with a way to say it without revealing his own secret. Surely they could make it work if Aziraphale never found out the truth about him. Crowley was feeling for some good wine, so maybe that was a way to make it a more casual visit.

The assassin hauled maybe a little too much alcohol with him but after today’s new information he really wanted to just forget about it.

Crowley arrived at his private apartment’s door and knocked a couple of times. He took in a deep breath and let it all out before the softer featured man opened the door.

“Oh, Crowley! What brings you here at this hour?” he seemed surprised and Crowley wasn’t sure if it was the good kind of surprised.

“Am I interrupting something?” he tried to peek inside but couldn’t see anyone.

“No, no, for goodness, no. Do come in.”

So he did.

“Had a really rough day at work today and I was thinking.. If you’d like?” he explained as he gestured all the bottles he was carrying. Aziraphale was thinking for a little too long for his liking.

“It’s rather late-”

Crowley couldn’t control his features going from happy to disappointed at his words.

“But I suppose a little won’t hurt.”

The assassin sighed in relief and let himself into the living room to put down the bottles on the small decorated table. Soon after, the other man joined him with two glasses. Once the glasses were filled, they began the usual catching up. Aziraphale wanted to know everything about his bad day to cheer him up with some inspirational words. Crowley always thought they were hardly inspiring, but he liked to see the other light up as he encouraged him to be more positive. He told a very colourful version of the truth with his flower shop metaphors. Their topics went wilder as the night grew darker and Crowley was perhaps a little too drunk for his own liking. Though somehow his head had ended up on Aziraphale’s lap and the blonde was caressing his fiery curls with such care. His sunglasses tucked away on a desk to the side of the room. Then he suddenly remembered the templar question. He also remembered thinking it could be good to just ask him, not remembering the part where it would reveal his own secret as well.

“Hey, hey. Wanna hear a secret?” he asked as clearly as he could muster, his finger circling the other’s knee.

“Oh, what would it be, my dear?”

Crowley giggled.

“A lil’ bird told me sumthn’,” he realised his words were getting little too mushy, so he tried his best to sound clearer. “You- You, my fellow, have a secret. Which I know!”

“My secret?” he sounded purely curious.

“Yerr a templrr..”

“I’m sorry, what did you just say?”

“I have a secrt too..”

No response.

“I’m an asss..he he..I’manassassiaah ha ha! It’s got ass in it!” he couldn’t stop laughing. Somehow this was peak comedy to him right now but Aziraphale was dead silent. Come to think of it, he had stopped moving his hands all together as well. Crowley had to turn his head a little to see that he wasn’t actually dead. The blur of a face stared deep back into his eyes in shock. “‘Ziraphelll? Whas wrong?” he did his best serious voice.

“Are you speaking the truth?” he finally asked with the most serious voice Crowley had ever heard him use.

“Whu?”

“Are you an assassin? Really?”

“Yeah, you know I got thiss job thingy. I thinnk I ws ‘sposed to kill ya or somthn.. But I-” he couldn’t finish before Aziraphale had already pushed him off the couch, face first to the floor.

“Get out, this instant!”

“Bu-”

“GET OUT!”

“B-”

“NOW!”

Crowley felt the command shake him a little more sober than before and he grabbed two bottles, other still untouched but the other one already opened, and made a quick dash to the door, or as quick as he could with legs that barely carried his weight at the moment. He stopped at the door to look back, only to see Aziraphale pointing at it.

“GO!” he ordered one more time before closing the door behind a baffled Crowley. He didn’t know what all that was for. He gathered himself and the bottles and somehow wobbled to his own doorstep, yet not finding the strength to go in. He passed out at the door.


	5. Little inconveniences, change of heart

Aziraphale didn't want to see Crowley, yet he still wanted to go get answers. How long had the other known? Why didn't he tell him earlier? Was Crowley the assassin who attacked him in the catacombs? He stopped to think about it more. Had he known then? They hadn't seen each other for a while before tonight, so maybe Crowley had come to confront him about the catacombs? He didn't want to believe that, though he didn't want to believe that his best friend was an assassin either.

He sat on his now empty couch burying his face into his palms and sighed, deep. This was the worst timing. Any other time he could've been just fine with the reveal, perhaps, but now he was in a much tighter hold with the order than usual. What if they found out? What if Gabriel found out? He wasn't so worried for himself, he was still very much useful to them, but Crowley was part of the enemy forces. Identity revealed, he could.. Aziraphale didn't want to finish the thought. He couldn't deny still caring for his friend. Of course he still cared! He was still the same person, right? Or was he full of other secrets and lies, he wondered.

Aziraphale was alone in his room. No, there was someone there. He could feel it, but not quite tell who it was or what it was for that matter. He looked around. The room was dark but there appeared to be some sort of a direct spotlight on him.

“Hello? Is someone there?” he tried but there was only silence.

He felt claustrophobic, as if the walls were closing in on him even though he couldn’t even see them properly.

“Gabriel?”

No answer.

“Crowley?” he asked with hesitation.

Something slithered in the darkness. He couldn’t see what.

“Crowley, is that you?” he repeated and felt something suddenly tighten around his ankle.

His heart skipped a beat when he looked down. It was a large snake, wrapping itself around his leg rather tightly, climbing its way up his body. Aziraphale tried to kick his leg free but it only caused him to fall on to the floor, giving the snake a much easier angle to work with. For some reason as it wrapped itself around him, it left his arms free, but it didn’t make it any less intimidating. The snake finally stopped its advance once it was face to face with him. The templar swallowed as he listened to the beat of his own heart and mistook it for a drum for a moment.

“Azzzirraphhhalle..” it hissed with a familiar voice.

“C-crowley?” he guessed.

“Yessss..”

“What do you want?” he couldn’t think of anything better to ask in the moment.

“You have been a very nasssty liar, Azziraphale.”

“No! I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true!”

“There’sss real value in that sssword, Azziraphale.”

“There is.. But!”

“You didn’t tell me you were a templarr, Azziraphale.”

“No! That’s none of anybody’s business!”

“Isss it not?”

“No, of course not!”

“It isss my businessss, Azziraphale. Am I not you bessssst friend, Azzziraphale?”

“No! You’re a.. You’re a snake..?”

“Azziraphale..” it repeated, turning its head a little too much. Then the snake’s head turned into Crowley’s and the beast in front of his eyes looked utterly disturbing.

Suddenly the room around them vanished and the snake with Crowley’s face grew larger and larger until Aziraphale fell from its grip. He began falling down a bottomless pit that was surrounded by snake scales. He screamed-

Then he woke up on his couch.

The templar was panting, eyes wide from the shock. A nightmare? When did he fall asleep? What time was it? He searched for his pocket watch only to realize that he wasn’t wearing his vest anyway. The clock on the fireplace pointed at nine in the morning. He looked outside to see the beams of sunlight trespass on his carpet. Aziraphale had a sudden urge to go and apologise to Crowley. He felt like he’d broken the other’s trust by just shoving him outside into the cold. Nevermind the whole mortal enemies part, he wanted his friend back.

He got up and more decently dressed, leaving immediately. The streets of Paris were already filled to the brim with people but Aziraphale just passed through them like nothing could stop him and luckily nothing tried. His determination carried him to Crowley’s backdoor.

He knocked.

No answer. Though that was typical. Crowley never seemed to have been bothered by a singular knock before.

He tried again with the same response. As he was about to repeat it a third time, he stopped his hand just before it hit the door.

“Crowley, if you’re there.. Just. Just know that I don’t hate you. I’m not mad. You’re my friend and I wouldn’t trade you for the world. Assassin or not..” he spoke softly through the door. “Please, let me in.. I’m sorry I overreacted, but I- I.. I don’t want to lose you,” he didn’t want to sound too desperate, but he couldn’t hide how he truly felt either.

Aziraphale waited but got nothing in return. He sighed and closed his eyes. As he’d expected, Crowley had pushed him away. For good? Oh goodness, he hoped not. But that hope was slowly dying out as he left the door and dragged himself back home.

For the following week he heard nothing from Crowley, so he had buried himself under the assignment that desperately needed closure. He wanted to get the one thing out of his life that had turned his world upside down. His devotion to his work was truly something, since he managed to get more results out than all his efforts so far. He had the location.

Aziraphale went out the following night. Alone. Without the mask. He broke into the chapel and after a series of different puzzles and doors, he laid his eyes on the sword. It was beautiful beyond comparing, or so he liked to think. There was one person in the world who was incomparable, but they weren’t on speaking terms right this instant. He picked up the sword from both ends and held it at the tips of his fingertips. Balancing it out before skillfully taking a proper grip with two hands. The sword felt perfect in his hands. The most powerful sword in the world. One of many just like it and he of all people was holding it. The sword poured its uses into his mind as if he was having a conversation with it. Mind controlling powers.. The potential. Crowley could be his forever and have no say in that. He could just walk in there and take him. No resistance. Only the two of them.

The templar threw the sword away after realizing what it was doing to him. In the end though, he wasn’t sure if it was the sword tempting him or just his own desires blossoming in grief. He took a deep breath and covered the glowing weapon with his coat, leaving the building with haste.

In the morning he didn’t rush to tell Gabriel about his discovery. No, he studied the sword more. He wanted to know how Those who came before had made such magnificent artefacts. He wanted to know if the sword had a mind of its own.


	6. Little inconveniences, unbreakable bond

After waking up from his steps, not too late after the sun had began its rise to the sky, Crowley crawled inside. Every joint and bone alike were sore from sleeping out in the cold for the night. At first he’d wondered how he’d gotten there, but then it started to slowly come back to him.

He had been at Aziraphale’s, drinking, oh so much drinking. Why was he there anyway? He remembered there being a very good reason for it. A reason.. Oh no, he thought as he realized what had taken place. Aziraphale was a templar and he had been a drunken idiot and revealed that he knew. There must have been a reason why he woke up outside. The pieces were connecting, hazily under the ever-growing headache. He had been an absolute moron and revealed his own identity as well. Aziraphale got mad.. He got mad? Crowley had never seen the other so furious. At least one thing was clear as day now and that was the fact that Aziraphale was indeed a templar, confirmedly.

Crowley inhaled a sharp breath as he braced for the physical and now emotional pain, as well. He’d lost his only friend. He was all alone, again.

No, not again..

He didn’t want that.

Not again.

No reason to leave his house..

Not again.

He dropped to the floor by the door, leaning forwards to hug his knees.

Not again.

Tears began to flow uncontrollably. How could he have been so stupid and let the one person in the world know the secret that affected both of them? What was he thinking taking so much alcohol with him. He should’ve known the consequences but no, he couldn’t just see reason, how could he. Crowley cursed emotions for existing. Everything would be so easy without them, just plain, boring, cold, hard facts and reasoning. But he couldn’t. He didn’t have the heart to let them go.

Time slaved on for what felt like a year when in reality it was more like a couple of hours. He had been crying on and off but he couldn’t stop thinking about his idiocy and how he’d most likely never see Aziraphale again. Why had he taken the contract in the first place? Everything in his thoughts always led to a choice he had made himself. Choices that were always bad in the long run.

He didn’t want this life anymore.

There was a knock on the door. He stopped sobbing and raised his head. It could’ve been anyone at this point but he didn’t want to answer it. It could’ve been even Lord Beelzebub herself, for all he cared. A second knock. Someone was persistent but he didn’t want to open the door. No one could make things any better. He’d ruined everything so majestically.

When the person behind the door finally spoke, Crowley froze. No.. It can’t have been. He turned to the door, leaning into it and pressing his palm against it, listening. He didn’t have the energy to get up.

Aziraphale wasn’t mad at him, but Crowley was. After the templar said his last words, there was nothing but silence. He didn’t get up or say a word. He just sat there, listening. The other must have left the door. There it was again. A stupid decision that let Aziraphale from his grasp. He had a chance to fix everything, but he didn’t. He started sobbing again, but this time he grabbed one of the bottles still left from last night, opened it and began drinking.

He didn’t stop until several days later, when he was feeling the absolute worst he could possibly remember. He was laying on his couch, half dressed, a wine bottle in hand. His apartment was a mess. A real, broken objects kind of a mess. No visits from Aziraphale during the whole time. The templar must have already gotten over him. A letter from the brotherhood had arrived but Crowley hadn’t opened it. Why would he? He was no assassin in this state and he didn’t want to be either.

At one point his body just couldn’t handle the alcohol anymore and he made the decision of changing his life completely. He wanted to leave Paris, leave France and the blasted brotherhood. He wanted to start over. Maybe overseas was a good idea, he thought. For any of that to work he needed to be sober, however, so he quit drinking altogether.

When his food reserves finally dried out, he realized he couldn’t find his sunglasses anywhere. Crowley looked for them. He cleaned the mess and still couldn’t find them. Then he sort of reapplied the mess by turning over his whole apartment and shop from top to bottom. Still no results. He tried to remember where he’d last had them, but his memory of the past week was more than a little hazy. His thoughts drifted back to Aziraphale. The memory pained him, but he had to. That was also when it hit him. Of course! He’d left them at Aziraphale’s. He cursed his luck, but he had no choice. He wasn’t exactly swimming in coin and he was sure the letter he’d still not even touched wasn’t a job offering from the brotherhood, so he couldn’t just get another pair. He had to go see the templar, or maybe just slip in while he was sleeping. Yes, that was his plan.

Crowley waited for the sun to set so he could enter the still warm but dark streets of Paris. He pulled his hood as deep as it was possible and climbed up to take the rooftop shortcut. He was stiff from all the laying around but somehow managed to get himself over to Aziraphale’s roof without falling to his death. He climbed down to his window. There was a dim light emanating from inside. Was he still awake? Crowley didn’t care enough to avoid all risks. He needed the glasses back.

The assassin slowly and carefully slid the window open and stepped inside. The bedroom was empty. So the other must have been downstairs then. He cursed under his breath but began his most silent descent to the lower floor. At the end of the stairs, he peeked into the living room that was now giving him unpleasant memories. There they were. He found the sunglasses. Unfortunately he also found Aziraphale. He was sitting at the very same desk where Crowley’s glasses were neatly tucked away. The assassin took a silent breath and entered the room. He avoided all the floorboards that he remembered creaking from various previous visits and made it to the desk. He was standing right behind the templar, who hadn’t still noticed him. Then Crowley saw it.

The sword. The light wasn’t coming from a lamp or candle, but a sword. The sword. He supposed there was something truthful about Aziraphale’s words. So, he found the sword. A dangerous artefact capable of destruction beyond compare and somehow Aziraphale was just stuffing his face into it. No. Crowley leaned in to see better. He almost cracked up laughing, but at the same time his heart melted. No one could look as soft and at peace as the man sleeping in front of him. He sighed softly with a smile creeping on his features. He was almost having second thoughts about abandoning his.. He wasn’t sure what Aziraphale was to him anymore. A distant friend? An enemy? A crush… Oh no, no way, he thought and took a step back. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t looking where he stepped and the floor creaked. Aziraphale raised his sleepy head. Crowley froze.

Maybe he wouldn’t notice him if he just stayed still. Maybe he would fall asleep and disregard the noise. He had high hopes but the templar didn’t meet them, as he eventually turned to stare at the assassin for a moment before noticing what was happening. Aziraphale screamed in surprise, which was a new thing for Crowley. He wasn’t aware such loud noises could leave the other’s sophisticated mouth. Probably half of the neighbours heard it too, so Crowley resumed to shushing him.

“It’s fine, it’s just me..” he reassured, lowering his hood to reveal all the tired features he’d collected during his week of alcoholic fever dreams. Aziraphale picked up the sword.

"I'm not here for you!" Crowley took a step back, waving his hands in defence.

"Then what are you here for?"

"Those," his voice was weak as he pointed at his glasses on the desk.

"Oh, I see."

The templar lowered the sword back onto the table and made way to let him take them.

"Listen.. I-" Crowley started as he stepped closer.

"I'm sorry.." Aziraphale had a sad expression all of a sudden. The assassin could practically sense the regret.

"No, I should be the one saying that."

"I kept you in the dark! I should've been more open about my real job, if you could call it that."

"No, you shouldn't have! There's a reason why our identities are kept secret from the rest of the world!"

Aziraphale looked back at him in a frightful awe.

"It's in the brotherhood's creed. 'We work in the dark to serve the light' and so forth," Crowley quoted to prove his point.

"I lied to you and that's not okay.."

"Necessary white lies. You think I was telling you the truth and only the truth about things happening in the shop that night?"

Aziraphale seemed unsure.

"Still, I'm not mad either.. I heard you through the door," Crowley confessed, getting the templar's full attention. "I was too tired and upset at myself to get up. I should have.. I really should have."

For a moment, they shared apologetic eye contact going both ways. Maybe he just could get Aziraphale back after all. He put all his hopes and dreams into one move and he acted upon it. He wasn't sure if Aziraphale would push him away in the end, but he made an effort for a hug. As he stepped closer, opening his arms wide to indicate his invitation, Crowley closed his eyes. Perhaps he was still afraid that his friend wasn't ready to be friends again or that he would abandon him forever, but he felt that closing his eyes made the gesture safer for himself. To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale did come closer. However, instead of hugging him back, the other cupped his cheeks and pressed their lips together.

The assassin was in shock and his outstretched arms retreated back to his sides. He had to open his eyes as wide as he possibly could to see his former friend so close to his face. Well, quite literally on his face. The kiss was brief and rather uneventful if you take away the fact that it was his first time. Aziraphale retreated almost immediately after noticing his awkwardness.

"Oh, I'm sorry.. I just.. Er.." he mumbled, blushing out of embarrassment, Crowley assumed, and took a couple of steps back to meet his desk again.

Crowley wasn't sure how to react. He had thought about this from time to time, but Aziraphale had always seemed too innocent and naive to get his little hints, so he'd eventually just settled for friendship. He was also such a private person that Crowley had hardly even gotten him to talk about himself when they'd first met. The crack in their relationship through the past week or so might have changed both of them for the better. You can't see what's right in front of you until it isn't, or so he'd heard. He felt his suppressed feelings reemerging and the flush of heat rushed over him. Crowley took a couple of confident steps Aziraphale's way and kissed him in return.

After getting a positive reaction, the templar went really into the kiss, guiding the inexperienced assassin with his movements. Before he could say anything, the templar had spun them around so that now he was pressed against the desk, until the surprisingly strong historian picked him up and sat him down on it. Aziraphale guided the assassin's hands to around his neck, while he himself placed his on Crowley's hips. The kiss went on for what felt like years but eventually they had to break away to breath. They stayed close, foreheads touching, panting heavily.

Crowley was happier than he could remember ever being.

"Does this mean we're good?" he asked playfully.

"Judging by your reaction, I think we're more than fine," Aziraphale stated with an ever-growing smile. Then he proceeded to pecking Crowley's neck with kisses. It gave him shivers but it felt good. He felt good emotionally as well, which was something he'd never thought he would feel again before tonight. "Would you happen to be free tonight, my dear?"

"Whatever would I be busy with?" Crowley laughed.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe catching templars off guard?"

"Are you suddenly very into this dynamic we have going on here?" he wasn't sure what to say. This wasn't completely unheard of. The Dorian kid was running with de la Serre's daughter, so perhaps templar-assassin unions weren't that frowned upon. He could only hope.

"I might have just caught myself an assassin."

Aziraphale was like a completely different man now. Crowley had no idea he could be so.. So… Seductive? With his lazy eyes and low murmurs. He felt his cheeks get hotter by the sight. Their mouths were almost touching again. The assassin tried his luck nervously and went in for another kiss with which the templar took the lead once again. When they broke loose, Aziraphale eyed him for a moment before opening his mouth.

"You haven't done this a lot, have you?"

Crowley shook his head.

"You are.. Well, this is kind of embarrassing, but.. You're my first."

He couldn't look the other into his eyes out of pure embarrassment, but his attention was Aziraphale's once the other landed a gentle palm on his cheek.

"It's completely fine, my dear. I would be honored to be your first."

Crowley could feel his whole head explode soon. He didn't know if he wanted that. Of course he wanted to be with Aziraphale, but he didn't know how he felt about going.. well, physical. Deeper than kissing and hugging.

"I.. I think this will be just fine for now," he leaned in to hug the templar better.

"Would you mind staying over here tonight?"

"I would love to."


	7. Little inconveniences, true natures revealed

For the first time in a long while, Aziraphale woke up with a smile on his face, but also a warm body laying next to him. He took up a better position to see if his companion was still asleep and it appeared that he was. He didn’t want to wake the poor thing up. After their confessions they’d moved upstairs to simply cuddle and make sure there were no more secrets between them. Crowley had told him about his week that had been worse than the templar could’ve ever imagined. Aziraphale had also shared his own week that had been way less intense but at least he’d made progress with the project.

Now though, he wanted to stay as close to his sleeping beauty as possible. Surely they could run away together. Leave their masters to fight their own wars. Have the rest of their lives be a peaceful montage of domesticity. Perhaps Aziraphale could get an actual job as a teacher or something to use his set of skills in. While he was fantasising about their future, his hand was wandering in the assassin’s hair. The curls were a little messier than usual, but he could only assume it was the result of his lack of motivation to do anything for far too long in Aziraphale’s eyes. At least now he could take a bath in the templar’s apartment.

Suddenly, yet slowly, Crowley turned on his back and opened his eyes lazily.

“I’m sorry, dear, did I wake you up?” he asked a little worried, brushing his thumb on the other’s cheek gently.

“No. But thank you,” he said with a smile so angelic that it almost gave Aziraphale a heart attack.

“For what, my dear?”

“For being here, letting me stay, not pushing me away.. Everything!” he finally settled on one word making the templar’s heart melt.

“Of course I’m here for you. Always, ‘til the end of our time.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Crowley seemed to sadden slightly. He wasn’t always as optimistic as Aziraphale tended to be, from time to time.

“Oh, I’m sure we can get away from all of this. I’ll just, give the sword to Gabriel and we’ll leave.”

“Are you seriously going to give it to him? He’s going to use it to do all kinds of bad things!”

“No, I’m sure it’s for the better of the nation. We could finally get some order into the messy revolution.”

“But at what cost?”

Aziraphale hadn’t thought of that. He’d simply trusted that his superiors knew best. Even though de la Serre was gone, there were still some reasonable templars left in the French branch, right? Templars and assassins could work together, he was sure of it.

“Maybe.. Maybe I should keep it just a little while longer to see what it actually can do before giving it away,” he was tempted to try it out in actuality. He just wouldn’t possibly be able to find a sparring partner who could take his hits.

“Good.”

Crowley stretched himself up to a sitting position.

“I should probably start heading home to see what that letter holds in for me,” the assassin stated before planting a brief kiss on Aziraphale’s forehead. He got out of the bed and began dressing himself.

“Wouldn’t you stay for just a moment longer?”

“As much as I’d love to, I really need to know now. Who knows if there’s a pack of assassins waiting for me at home because they haven’t heard back from me.”

”I understand. I’ll join you downstairs in a minute,” he stated after seeing the redheaded mess leave the room fully clothed in his assassin robes. Aziraphale sighed in relief and started to get some decent clothing on himself as well. As he was buttoning his vest, he heard a loud thud from downstairs and ran down to investigate. When he made his way into the living room that also worked as his study, he froze.

“Oh, Aziraphale, I was starting to get worried if this little devil had done his deals with you. Good to see you’re still alive and you found the sword. Excellent job,” Gabriel proclaimed, holding Crowley against the wall from the back of his neck with such force that it made Crowley’s painful features flatten against it. “Though it makes me wonder.. What was he doing up there with you. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for a rat like this? Surely he’s pretty but he’s also a stone cold killer.”

“What do you want, Gabriel?” Aziraphale finally gathered the courage to demand.

“I was simply checking in. You haven’t been sending in your reports lately and it’s got us all worried. Seems like you already finished the assignment I gave you.”

“Take the sword. Just leave him be!” he almost begged at this point but it only seemed to have made the situation worse for Crowley as Gabriel pushed him harder against the wall, getting a grunt out of the assassin.

“I don’t think so, Aziraphale. What do you think is going to happen when he goes out there. The whole brotherhood will find out about our little secret.”

Crowley tried to struggle loose but to no avail. The bigger templar tightened his grip, making the assassin cough under his sheer physical force. Aziraphale wasn’t the quickest on his feet but he dashed for his desk and grabbed the sword, pointing it at the intruder.

“Let him go!” he ordered with more confidence, stepping closer.

“You think I walk outside without protection,” Gabriel almost laughed. “Go ahead, try me. Just beware that once you attack me, there’s no going back for you.”

Aziraphale hesitated, but in the end, he went for the kill. The sword of Eden ripped through Gabriel’s clothes as he stung it right through his lung. He’d never actually killed anyone in his life before and it seemed that it would still stay that way. A devious grin covered the entirety of the templar commander’s face as he practically pulled the sword out of his chest with one bare hand, unphased by any pain. How was this even possible? Aziraphale was so shocked by what had just happened before his very eyes that Gabriel could easily yank the sword out of his hands. He crushed Crowley one more time against the wall, getting a scream of pain out of him before leaving the assassin to fall to the ground, coughing and holding his chest and throat tight.

“Oh Aziraphale, all this power and you couldn’t still win against me. Oh well, this is a present for our Grandmaster, Germain, anyway. I shan’t ruin it for him with some traitor’s blood as yourself. I‘m sure he’ll be cross with you. I hope we meet again,” Gabriel finished with the widest grin Aziraphale had ever witnessed and left. Germain? Was he working for the extremist templars the whole time? It can’t have been.. Just as Gabriel walked out of the door, Aziraphale could see something glowing under his jacket. Was that.. A shroud of Eden? It would’ve explained how he survived the hit. Crowley made more noise on the floor and Aziraphale diverted all his attention to him.

He kneeled beside the other on the floor, cradling his whole aching body against his own.

“Are you okay, my dear? Please tell me you’re going to make it!”

The assassin coughed a couple of times before looking up at him, still in visible pain.

“Yeah.. I’ll,” he coughed, ”I’ll be fine..”

They sat in the silence for a long while. Crowley was gathering himself and checking his torso for any broken bones and luckily there were none. Aziraphale was once again faced with the guilt of putting Crowley in danger but also working for the wrong side when it came to his own order. He had apologized to Crowley so many times after, even though the other had claimed that it was just fine. He wasn’t to blame. But Aziraphale didn’t see it that way. He was the beginning and end to the whole sword of Eden business. Without him, they might have never found it.


	8. Little inconveniences, certain death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it's a little late! Been really busy and I didn't have much time at hand but here it is now!

“Please, Aziraphale.. Don’t be so hard on yourself. You don’t want to go down that route, trust me.”

Crowley was sitting on the floor, leaning to the same wall he had met rather violently just an hour earlier. Aziraphale was pacing and now he stopped, just to look at his partner.

“We’ll get through this.. Together,” Crowley had taken the optimist role this time around and surprised even himself with it.

“No, I think.. I think we should leave the country and just leave all of this behind. Maybe go to the New World. I hear they’re very accepting over there,” Aziraphale tried.

“Leave? Now? Don’t be an idiot!”

“Why not?”

“Excuse me but am I the only one here who seems to have taken to heart that the enemy, or well, my enemy at least, has a weapon of mass destruction in their hands and you.. You just want to leave it be-” as he raised his voice, the coughing returned. Aziraphale hurried to his side, but Crowley was determined to finish what he had started by taking the contract to kill the masked man. Though now his target had changed from Aziraphale to Germain and then Gabriel. He got up, rejecting Aziraphale’s helping hand.

“Crowley.. Please.. We don’t have to do anything. It was bound to happen sooner or later, I suppose.” He looked defeated. 

“No! We aided in it, so it’s our responsibility to stop them!”

“Crowley..”

“I’m going. Paris has been my home for a decade, I won’t leave her to the hands of any more maniacs.”

Aziraphale hesitated very clearly, but that wasn’t something Crowley needed right now.

“So, if you want, come with me, or stay here or leave.. I don’t care,” it pained him to say it and it wasn’t quite true either. He didn’t want Aziraphale to go, but he had no choice if the templar didn’t have the courage to defend the people of Paris from Germain and Gabriel’s rule. It started to look like the other wasn’t coming along, so Crowley moved towards the door, pained by the thought of losing Aziraphale again after all.

“Wait! I’ll get my coat and my sword.”

A tiny smile creeped on the assassin’s face. It was a smile of relief. Aziraphale returned at his side fully dressed and ready, holding out his sunglasses in one hand with a smile. Crowley took them and put them on. Now they only needed to find Germain. That wasn’t going to be easy, or maybe it was. They only had to follow Gabriel’s tracks.

The pair left the apartment in a hurry, though it was already over midday, they would surely find the trespasser with Crowley’s specific set of skills. The eagle vision had never been this useful to him. Though the closer they got, the harder the tracks became to follow. He clearly knew what he was doing. Suddenly, Aziraphale stopped.

“What is it?” Crowley asked, stopping a few steps further.

“Could it be this easy..”

“What?”

“See the Temple over there,” he stated while pointing at the large castle like building rising not too far from them in the distance. 

“Yeah?”

“Oh, I’m not sure if I can tell this to you.. But.. Well, it’s the headquarters of the templar order in Paris.”

Crowley couldn’t believe his ears. He could end the order for good with this information. The templar must have truly trusted him to share such knowledge with him. He had to recover quickly from the shock and return to the present.

“So, he could just be hiding in there? Almost in plain sight?”

“Yes, that’s very possible.”

“You recon Gabriel already handed the sword over to the lunatic?”

“I don’t know. But if your sense is correct and Gabriel did come this way, then he might at least be in there somewhere. There’s just one thing.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t think they’re going to let us just waltz in after what happened earlier today.”

“Right.. Do you happen to know any secret entrances?”

“Well.. I’m sure Gabriel has ordered some guards to the one I used to use to visit in person and I don’t really know any other ones, sadly. Should we just follow Gabriel and see where he went?”

“What if it’s the plain front door, then we’re back to square one.”

“Then we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile at his words. He nodded.

They followed the tracks, but they didn’t lead to the front door, no, it was someplace little off to the side. It was another secret entrance, but this time to a different place. They followed into the hardly guarded entrance and sneaked inside. Back to the catacombs it was, though this time they knew better. Crowley made sure at each and every corner that there was absolutely no one on the other side or that there were only one or two guards who he could easily take down if necessary. They reached a door.

“I think this is the only way in,” Crowley confirmed after looking around with his eagle vision.

“Then let’s,” Aziraphale was confident in his words and he offered a hand. Crowley took it. The templar drew his sword when the assassin pushed open the door. They arrived at the scene ready to fight.

Nothing was on the other side.

That was their first impression, at least. They let go off each others’ hands to investigate the area better. Some columns smelled like they’d been burned by something. In a moment, Crowley heard Aziraphale gasp on the other side of the room.

“We’re too late,” the templar put one hand over his mouth as he arrived at the dead body of a man he could only assume was Germain.

“Just in time, more like. That leaves only Gabriel on my list.”

He was about to leave when the other tugged his hood.

“Look.”

Aziraphale pointed at the floor. There were millions of tiny golden pieces all around the place.

“You think-” Crowley started.

“It has to be.”

“This is all way too convenient to my taste.”

Crowley didn’t like anything happening around them now. He wanted to leave. Something was telling him to just run away. Something was coming.. No. Someone was coming. Then, a slow clapping came from the entrance.

“I’m surprised you made it all the way here. Congratulations!”

It was Gabriel, but he wasn’t alone, as Crowley could see after turning around. Lord Beelzebub was there, as well as some other assassins and templars.

“Well look at the irony. Assassins and templars working together to take down two rogue agents,” Crowley couldn’t resist pointing out.

The newly met allies looked at each other with disgust.

“Temporary truce for taking down two traitors working together to presumably bring both orders down,” Beelzebub corrected.

That wasn’t quite true, unless Aziraphale had some secret plan to ruin the assassins as well. But he couldn’t believe such a thing.

“Seize them!” Gabriel ordered.

There was no way out. They had no option but to surrender.


	9. Little inconveniences, home sweet home

Aziraphale was sitting in his jail cell, all alone, chained to the wall. He’d heard the guards talk something about the guillotine and whatever it was, they were in an awfully cheerful mood. In the Temple, they had gone peacefully. Although Crowley had kicked one of the templars, who’d taken him into custody. Luckily Gabriel had overlooked it and supposedly no consequences came to him.

Now that he was alone again, he had time to think. He wasn’t ready to go yet but he was sure Gabriel wouldn’t let him live after all he’d done. Though he was more afraid for Crowley. He was always the one who opened his mouth first to spit out all that was on his mind. Aziraphale missed him already. They had had a wonderful three years together. He’d found a friend, a lover, though he’d realized that too late. He wished, no, he prayed that he could see him at least one more time before the inevitable beheading. The waiting was the worst part about it all. He didn’t know if he even got to have a trial or if it was straight to the guillotine. Though Gabriel was the only witness, but his word was rather the counting vote as well when it came to the templars, who now had no leadership beside him.

“Good morning, Aziraphale,” came the truly devious tone of the templar in question from behind the bars.

He looked at him, not saying a word.

“It’s time for your trial. We’ll grant you as much as to say something in your defence. Go on, get him out,” he finished, getting out of the way of the guards who were standing behind him.

They freed Aziraphale from the wall but instead held him in the shackles by hand. The group started heading out of the cell department and into the open area of the courtyard outside. He could see Crowley on the other side. So the trial was for both of them at the same time. That certainly seemed a little too intense for such an important decision to be made.

Gabriel walked up onto the stage where the assassin leader was already making her stance. The trial started with a hammer hitting the table. The crowd went silent. He knew that his side consisted only of templars and could only assume, judging by the amount of hoods standing on the other side that they were all assassins as well. So they were going to be an example, perhaps.

There was no real judge on the stage, just the two leaders of the opposite sides, so there was truly no neutral ground in this trial as they began addressing the issue. They stated all the accusations, of which half consisted of fraternizing with the enemy and in doing so, endangering the orders’ secrecy. They were accused of multiple things they hadn’t even been doing and it seemed that the templar order’s downfall was put mainly on Aziraphale’s shoulders for not being a more loyal servant. Bringing an assassin into the templar headquarters was one thing amongst the accusations which were actually true, even though technically Crowley had lead them there all by himself, but such defences were useless against these judges. Crowley got all the blame for not finishing the assignment and then proceeding to avoid their attempts at contacting him. Then some imaginary accusations for helping the templars find the artefact. They went on and on, digging even deeper into every last bits of information about them they didn’t even know about each other. It was also presumed that they’d known each other before either of them had set foot in Paris at all.

The whole time they were kept silent of any attempts at correcting even the most preposterous of accusations. The irony indeed, as Crowley had said the night before, of the assassins and the templars working so well together to take down the traitors in their midst.

“Do you have anything to say for yourselves?” the assassin leader asked finally.

The two of them looked at each other from the opposite sides of the yard. Then the fiery headed assassin turned to their judges.

“Spare his life! Take mine for all the crimes we may or may not have committed against both orders!”

“No!” Aziraphale cried. This wasn’t how he wanted to live for the rest of his life. “Please! I rebelled! I attacked you! Take me inste-”

“Shut up, you imbecile! He did it all to protect me, so he’s practically innocent!”

Crowley.. Why??

“Fair enough,” Gabriel agreed, eyeing Aziraphale with pity.

“NO!!” Aziraphale screamed at the top of his lungs, trying to break free.

“I hereby sentence Anthony Crowley to the guillotine in the morning and Aziraphale Fell to imprisonment for life for betraying their respective orders,” the assassin leader stated. The crowd was moderately quiet. This was a grim reminder for everyone.

“Nooo!!” Aziraphale tried to get closer to his love once more, but this time the guards were already taking him away.

And Crowley, that bastard was smiling. The most tender smile Aziraphale had ever seen on his face, just looking at him under his sunglasses. Aziraphale collapsed, repeating ‘no’ like his life depended on it. He was sobbing. He was so devastated. He covered his face and somehow the guards let him be there for quite some time.

“Take him away. I don’t want to see his pathetic face ever again,” Gabriel stated with the coldest voice imaginable.

The guards tried to pick him up but Aziraphale shrugged them off, wiping his tears away and getting up on his own. He gave one last look at the templar who wasn’t paying him anymore attention before turning to walk back to his cell, where he would spend the rest of his life. Alone.

He never thought this day would come so soon. There was always that little hope that it would be years and years later, but no. It was truly now. In the next morning, Crowley would be gone and he would be rotting away, forever.

Aziraphale kept silently sobbing through the day, remembering every feature on Crowley’s face when the guards were taking him away. From time to time, he prayed in between sobbing and in the evening the tiny window in his cell revealed, he couldn’t bare to continue. He hadn’t got the energy to cry anymore. He was feeling sick and thinking of finding a way to end his own life before too long. He couldn’t bare to be separated from his love. Perhaps if there was indeed an afterlife, they would be reunited.

Then the night came. He couldn’t sleep, so he just stared at the wall on the opposite side, sitting on his miserable mattress that was supposed to be a bed.

There was a silent thud and then a clack, but he didn’t want to give himself any hope by investigating.

“Psst!”

Surely he was already hearing things.

“Hey! Angel!”

The whispers sounded like Crowley. Perhaps he’d fallen asleep already.

“I don’t think he heard you.”

Who was that? His curiosity almost got the better of him. A familiar groan followed.

“Give me the key.”

There was now someone standing in front of him. A dark shadow, blocking the window. Aziraphale didn’t want to look up. This had to be a dream. The man kneeled down in front of him.

“Crowley?” he asked weakly. A touch on his still wet cheek. It was just as warm as he’d remembered.

“Yes, my love. Now be a dear and get your ass out of the mud so we can get out of here.”

“But.. But.. You-”

“I’ll explain everything on the way. Just, come on, angel.”

He stood up, dropping the chains that were just a moment ago binding Aziraphale into the wall and offered a hand. Aziraphale looked at his newly freed hands and took the outstretched one in front of him.

He was standing face to face with the one and only face he’d be willing to see for the rest of his life if it came to that. They were staring into each other’s eyes for a long time.

“Hey, lovebirds, we have to go, now,” the new voice repeated from behind the bars.

“Come one,” Crowley smiled and lead him out of the cell.

The feeling was unreal. Aziraphale escaped in the dark of the night with Crowley and this other assassin. He couldn’t stop thinking that this might just all be a dream and he might wake up at any moment. It was the scariest part about it. They made it into the border of Paris. There was a carriage waiting.

“There are some clothes and other belongings in the trunk, some of which you asked for,” the assassin explained, looking at Crowley, “And some food as well. Safe travels, brother.”

“Thank you. I’ll try to find some way to repay you,” Crowley answered bowing his head slightly.

“Wait. Can someone please explain what is going on? Who are you? Why are you helping us?” Aziraphale wanted to know more about his situation.

“Ah, excuse my manners. My name is Arno Dorian. I was raised by the late de la Serre, yet as you can see, my allegiance lies with the brotherhood. I couldn’t help but see myself in your shoes during the trial. Though I lost…” he saddened and his whole expression grew darker for a moment. “Please, go show the rest of our worlds that a union between an assassin and a templar is possible. That our people could work together. For Elise.”

Crowley nodded with a faint smile, holding out his hand like a gentleman.

“Oh, my dear boy, please stay safe out there. You never know who might be listening,” Aziraphale wanted to warn him, “But thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Thank you.”

The templar took his assassin’s hand and stepped into the carriage.

“Oh, I think, after what we did to Germain, they won’t have a choice but to take me back in,” Mr. Dorian grinned once again, still somehow weakly.

“Wait, it was you?” Aziraphale was surprised and glad.

Mr. Dorian winked at him and waved them goodbye before vanishing into the night.

“We have to go,” Crowley pulled himself into the carriage and hit the driver’s side two times to indicate that they were ready to go.

They sat in silence for a moment, opposite of one another.

“Is this truly real? I’m not dreaming?” Aziraphale had to ask.

Crowley just smiled and moved to sit next to him. The assassin leaned in for a kiss.

“Do you think you could feel this if you were having a dream?” the other asked with a sly expression.

Aziraphale melted and kissed him back.

“I sure hope not, even though this does feel like it would only be possible in a dream.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got quite the head start before they’ll notice we’re gone. I don’t think either order has enough resources to put up a search for us in two countries.”

“Two? Does this mean..”

“Yes. We’re going back home.”

“I thought your home was Paris?”

“My home is wherever you are, my angel.”

“When did you come up with that ‘angel’? You called me that earlier, too.”

“Remember that mask of yours. It reminds me of an angel and your face surely would make any real angel jealous of its sweetness.”

“Oh, stop it, dear,” he had to think of some clever come back, “But you, on the other hand, are the most beautiful creature on Earth. A very tempting one at that. Kind of like a demon.”

Crowley smiled and leaned his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“I don’t ever want to lose you, angel.”

“I love you, my dear,” Aziraphale finally said the words out loud. He grabbed Crowley’s hand, squeezing it lightly.

“I love you, too, angel.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this piece of fiction!
> 
> Here's also a link to the designs I made for the husbands:  
https://heiskadraws.tumblr.com/post/187229493478/designs-for-my-assassins-creed-au-plus-the-cover


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